


The Tender Trap

by roboticonography



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cougar Peggy, F/M, International Women's Day, Older Woman/Younger Man, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 11:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18051440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticonography/pseuds/roboticonography
Summary: Steve gives Peggy a somewhat unconventional birthday gift.





	The Tender Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indiefic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/gifts).



> This takes place in the same universe as [Love Me Harder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332916/chapters/12313586). It’s not necessary to read that story to read this one, though you may miss out on a few of the in-world references. All you need to know is that Peggy is in her 90s, but looks younger, thanks to an accidental exposure to the serum. She’s retired from SHIELD but still freelances as a consultant. In this story, she and Steve are both living in D.C. and have been dating for about a year.
> 
> There is pegging in this story. However, the narrative elides some of the details of the pegging experience, in order to focus on the characters. You can assume that everyone did everything they might need to do to have a safe and enjoyable time, even if it isn’t directly mentioned.
> 
> Recommended listening: [Massive Attack’s cover of The Hunter Gets Captured by the Game](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4ajJipyy3w).
> 
> For my pal indiefic, who encourages me in all of my Cougar Peggy endeavours, but especially this one.

“What are your thoughts on anal sex?”

As usual, Peggy isn’t coy when it comes to talking about their sex life. Steve is far less shy than he was, but she can still catch him off-guard occasionally—like now, eating a carefully-prepared meal at Steve’s small dining table.

“That’s your idea of polite dinner conversation?” he teases.

“I don’t see why not.” She spears a piece of broccoli nonchalantly with her fork. “Are you for? Against? You’re not allowed to take the Fifth Amendment in this instance.”

He shrugs. “It’s not something that appeals to me. I don’t think I’d be able to get into it. I’d be too worried about hurting you.”

“What gave you the impression we were talking about me?”

Steve isn’t naïve. He knows (mostly) about the things that men do with men, and the things that women do with women. He knows that there are props and devices that people use in the bedroom: they’ve employed Peggy’s vibrator in some creative ways recently. Still, he’s surprised.

“You want to do that to me? Why?”

“Now, there’s a question. Why do you like to do it to me? The traditional way, I mean.”

“Well, I—because—you know.”

She waits.

“Because it gets me excited,” he says, feeling slightly ridiculous. “And because it makes you feel good.”

“Well, then. There you are. It’s an idea that excites me. And I think you would enjoy it.”

Steve has his doubts, to put it mildly, but later that evening, he agrees to an experiment. There’s a spot she can press with her fingers—on the outside, she assures him—that will give him a sampling of how it would feel.

It’s a little weird at first, her rubbing him back there, and he doesn’t really get it—but then she hits something, and it’s like she’s flipped some secret pleasure switch. Every inch of his skin tingles.

His orgasm is forceful. And messy.

“Stop apologizing,” she insists, slipping her camisole off over her head and dropping it on the floor beside the bed. “That was the entire point of the exercise. Though I didn’t think it would be _quite_ that quick.”

He still has enough brain cells left to take the hint. “Feeling left out?”

“Very,” she murmurs. “You’d better get to work on that.”

*

Even after the success of the experiment, Steve still isn’t sure.

It’s not that he thinks it makes him less of a man, or anything like that. He’s fine with it, in principle. But in practice, the thought of anything actually going _inside him_ just makes him clench up. Which, he reflects, is not likely to make it much fun for either of them.

Peggy tells him they can leave it on the table until he’s decided one way or the other, and assures him she doesn’t mind if he isn’t interested.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks. They’re having breakfast this time, a crowded little diner with mismatched chairs and a menu that easily fits on a half-sheet of paper. He doesn’t know how these conversations keep happening at mealtimes.

“Once. I was told it was a foolproof way to avoid consequences, and I was young enough to believe the logic was sound. My friend enjoyed himself, but it didn’t do anything for me. I’m not wired for it the way you are, darling.”

Steve manages not to blush. “I meant, have you done it to anyone?”

“Only the way I showed you. No specialized equipment. It’s not the sort of thing you propose on a first date.”

“You tied me to your bed on our first date,” he points out.

She squeezes his leg under the table. “You did ask so nicely.”

“Do you own any—specialized equipment?”

“I don’t, as it happens.” There’s a wicked gleam in her dark eyes. ”If you decide you want to try it, then you can go and pick out something you think would be suitable.”

“Oh.” The whole thing seems even _less_ appealing now that there’s shopping involved. But then a thought occurs to him. “So… it’d be the first time for you?”

“It would.”

“Huh,” he says, more interested now.

“You’re a man of many gifts, Steve. Subtlety not among them.”

“Hey. I can be subtle.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “It’s understandable. At my age, there aren’t many firsts left. You’re certainly welcome to claim any you can find.”

He frowns, very unsubtly. “It’s not some kind of—don’t make it sound like I’m trying to mark my territory.”

“Never that,” she says, amused. “I, on the other hand…” She digs her fingernails into his thigh, hard.

“I’ll think about it.” It’s all he has time to say on the subject before the server brings their food, and the conversation turns to the more venue-appropriate topic of ketchup on scrambled eggs.

*

Peggy has had almost a century to amass all the possessions a person could want, and she doesn’t seem to want very many to begin with. She has a very specific style that Steve can appreciate, but not anticipate. She also has far more money than he does—which doesn’t bother him at all, except for those occasional moments when it can be a real pain in the ass.

Peggy’s birthday is one of those moments.

He already knows Peggy is great at birthdays. For his birthday, she cleared her schedule and they spent the entire weekend together. When they managed to make it out of Steve’s apartment, they did all the things he liked: burgers and beer, a movie, a baseball game. She gave him a Brooklyn Dodgers t-shirt, which he sleeps in most nights, and a practically indestructible Bremont wristwatch that he wears whenever he’s not suited up.

He knows the watch was expensive—Tony Stark gave him hell about it, and Tony ought to know—but that isn’t why it has value for Steve. The back is engraved: _S, with timeless love, P._

It’s an unexpected touch, coming from the most emphatically unsentimental person he knows.

Just once, he wants to give her the perfect gift: something that will surprise and delight her, something she couldn’t or wouldn’t get for herself.

And right now, there’s only one thing he can think of.

A quick internet search reveals that more straight men are into the specialized equipment experience than Steve would have guessed. The activity even has a harmless-sounding name— _pegging_. Aside from the obvious first association, it sounds like either a board game played with wooden pieces, or something a mountaineer might do to ensure a stable climb.

The articles he finds are informative, and mildly entertaining. Browsing the website of a local sex shop turns up a bewildering variety of shapes, sizes, and colours of pegging equipment—all with detailed reviews from verified purchasers. (There is even, to his utter mortification, a Captain America model—which, barring a special kind of narcissism, he can’t picture himself ever purchasing.)

He’s clearly out of his depth and so, on one of their morning runs around the SHIELD campus, he winds up asking Natasha what she knows about strap-ons.

Natasha looks at him askance, but doesn’t slow her stride. “It’s adorable that you think I’d know anything about strap-ons.”

Steve figures, since he’s in this now, he may as well go for broke. “Do you?”

“Nothing that would help you,” she says, cryptically. “Is this about a birthday gift?”

“I told you to stop looking at my calendar, Romanoff.”

They take the next lap in companionable silence before pausing at the water fountain.

Stretching gracefully, Natasha says, “I think this might be one of those situations where you could use another man’s opinion.”

Steve has no idea how he’d raise the topic with any of the guys he knows. He rarely talks to people outside of a gym or a locker room. Natasha is the closest friend he has right now, and the only one who knows the whole truth about Peggy.

“Never mind,” he tells her.

“Ask Tony. If his bedroom closet is any indication, he’s an expert.”

“Stop.” Steve slaps a hand over his eyes, as if it’s going to block out the mental picture of Tony on all fours. He doesn’t know how he’ll be able to look Pepper Potts in the eye again.

Natasha takes out her phone.

“What are you doing?” asks Steve, alarmed.

“Texting Clint.”

“About this?!”

“I’m not giving him all the details. But he has experience, and he’s local. Maybe he can take you shopping.”

“Natasha. _No_.”

Her phone chirps.

“He says no problem. He knows a place.”

*

The place Clint knows is called Pandora’s Toybox. The exterior is bland, unassuming; if Steve didn’t know better, he’d probably think it was a bookstore.

It’s warm outside, but he turns up in a ballcap, a hooded sweatshirt, and sunglasses, just to be safe. The last thing he needs is a TMZ segment about Captain America being spotted in a sex shop—PR nightmare aside, it would ruin the surprise for Peggy.

The store is brightly-lit, clean and well-organized. The girl behind the counter is wearing a swing dress in a dizzying neon print, her pink hair in elaborate rolls; when she smiles at him, he can see that she has a piercing in each cheek.

Steve does his level best to keep his head down and ignore the prominent display of Avengers-themed toys—unlike Clint, who has his phone out and is taking pictures of the individual items.

Steve’s own phone buzzes.

_My afternoon just freed up_  
_If you’re at a loose end you’re welcome to come round_

Despite the breezy tone, Steve is fairly certain that this qualifies as a booty text.

_I’m running an errand_ , he replies, not without regret. _Not sure how long it’ll take. Tonight?_

_Busy tonight_  
_Limited time offer_

It would be easy, thinks Steve, to blow this off—a vague excuse, a promise to reschedule, and he’s out the door and on his bike in an instant. But he’s in this now, and he’s determined to see it through.

Peggy’s next text is considerably more direct, and enough to make Steve’s ears turn red.

“What’s up?” inquires Clint, glancing up. He’s holding the Hulk dildo, which is even more massive up close. He wobbles it in Steve’s direction, menacingly.

“Nothing.”

_I wish I could_ , he writes back, then quickly pockets his phone.

Not quickly enough, as it turns out; despite the fact that it’s literally his codename, Steve has momentarily forgotten that Clint sees things most people miss.

“‘Peggy’?”

Steve says nothing, staring fixedly at a plastic nurse’s outfit just over Clint’s shoulder.

“Tell me that’s _not_ who I think it is.”

“It is.”

“And you two are…”

“Dating,” supplies Steve, reluctantly.

“Wow.” For a moment, it seems like Clint might say something wildly inappropriate, but then: “Sorry, man.”

Condolences are definitely not the reaction Steve was expecting. “What for?”

“Uh, for that time I described in detail how I wanted to bone your girlfriend?”

“Don’t mention it.” He gives Clint’s shoulder a friendly backhand swat. “Seriously. Don’t. Ever.”

“So this is for _her_?” Clint says the last word with the kind of reverence most people reserve for a deity.

Embarrassment drives Steve to be direct: “It’s for me, since I’m going to be on the receiving end of it.”

“Right.” Clint doesn’t bat an eye. “Have you done anything?”

“I’ve done some things.”

“Ass things?”

“We’re done here,” says Steve firmly.

Clint seems mildly entertained by the whole situation, but takes pity on him. “Do you want me to wait outside? You can just text me if you need a second opinion on something.”

Relieved, Steve agrees.

Alone, he stands in front of the same display for about twenty minutes, re-reading the same product descriptions from the internet.

He has a box in one hand and a bottle in the other when the girl with the pink hair comes to check on him. “You okay back here?”

Trying not to sound as guilty as he probably looks, he says, “Fine, thanks.”

“No problem. You know that you can’t use those together, right?”

He frowns at the two packages. “Where does it say that?”

“You should only be using water-based lube on your silicone toys.”

Steve is _sure_ he remembers reading that silicone lube was the best choice for this. Defeated, he puts the bottle back on the shelf.

“Are you sure I can’t answer any questions?”

“Maybe,” he admits.

*

A half-hour later, Steve emerges from the shop with a large black plastic bag tucked under his arm.

“Let’s see,” says Clint, reaching for the bag.

Steve is already marching up the block. “Nope.”

“Buy me a beer?”

“Yep.”

*

They find a place two streets over, and Steve buys them both a beer. He doesn’t know Clint well enough to make small talk, which would be awkward if Clint weren’t such a proficient bullshitter.

After a long story involving explosives in a cake factory that Steve is fairly sure he cribbed from a movie, Clint says, “Natasha said you might have questions.”

Steve nods.

“I can’t read your mind, man. I know it’s not easy. Just give me something.”

“You’ve done it, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“You liked it?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And your…” He gestures for Clint to supply a word. He doesn't. “Your partner? She liked it?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” Steve folds his arms and leans on the table, like they’re at a strategy meeting. “Tell me what I need to know.”

*

For the evening of Peggy’s birthday, Steve rents out the upper floor of a restaurant she likes in D.C. He arranges for a special menu of her favourite dishes—and for dessert, a decadent chocolate cake, complete with a reasonable number of candles.

He asks the restaurant staff for advice on the wine, since he couldn’t begin to guess what she would want.

They’re even willing to clear a few tables out of the way for dancing. They let Steve hook his phone up to the stereo system, so that he can play some decent music.

It’s not nearly as expensive as he thought it was going to be, and the look of astonishment on her face would have made it a steal at twice the price.

Peggy looks ravishing, of course. Her simple black dress features some very creative mesh panels; she’s completely covered, but when she moves in the light, Steve gets fleeting glimpses of bare skin. Her lipstick and her nails are painted a rich red.

It’s a great evening. Peggy is happy with the food and the wine, and flirts with him shamelessly in front of their waiter, which he pretends not to enjoy as much as he does.

When the staff bring out the cake with their after-dinner champagne, she shakes her head at him, but he can tell she’s pleased.

They dance to a mix of old standards and new favourites. Even after all this time, he still loves it when she rests her head on his shoulder.

She gets a little handsy with him on the cab ride back to her place. Normally, Steve has hard limits about fooling around in public, and one of those limits is the presence of another person. However, as Peggy has pointed out on prior occasions, the back of a taxi is dark, and the action is happening well below the driver’s line of sight. And it _is_ her birthday.

However, he puts the brakes on as soon as they get to her condo, so he can retrieve the large, flat gift box from his overnight bag.

“Steve,” she chides. “The dinner was more than enough.”

He sets the box on the dining room table. “I wanted to get you at least one thing you asked for.”

He thinks that might be enough to give the game away, but Peggy just looks puzzled.

“Something for me to wear?” She gives the box a brisk shake. Hearing the contents rattle, she amends, “Something for _you_ to wear?”

He can feel his ears turning pink, but he holds her gaze. “Only one way to find out.”

She peels back the silver paper. It’s the first time he’s ever seen someone make opening a gift into a striptease—though at least part of that is down to his own overactive imagination.

It’s then that he realizes: he’s actually looking forward to what’s going to happen. Not merely resigned to it, not merely curious; despite his own reservations, the thought of being with Peggy in a way no one else ever has is starting to get him hot and bothered.

He watches her face as she slides the lid off the box and peers inside.

“Oh,” she says softly.

He’d wavered over whether she’d prefer something more utilitarian. In the end, he’d chosen a harness that he thought fit her personality: cherry red leather, with silver buckles. Classic, elegant.

The other part of the equation is black silicone, modest in size, sleek and futuristic-looking. The shape is supposed to make it pleasurable for both of them, which Steve thought was a nice feature. Every online review he’d found had billed it as _perfect for beginners_.

Her eyes dart back and forth between him and the box for few seconds, as though she’s certain one of them is going to disappear. Then she flashes him a brilliant smile.

“Darling. _What_ a nice surprise.”

“Didn’t think I was gonna go for it, huh?”

“I’ve never doubted your adventurous spirit. But I know how much you hate shopping.”

Her cheeks dimple slightly as she uncovers the half-dozen packets of lubricant (water-based) artfully tucked into the tissue paper he’d used to line the box. He’d grabbed them from the baskets of free samples in the store, reasoning that twenty dollars was a lot to spend on a product he wasn’t entirely sure of. He’s got a few more in his overnight bag, just in case, but the mood he’s going for is sexy and open-minded, not thrifty and over-prepared.

Peggy lifts the harness out of the box and lets it dangle from her fingertips. He’s pleased to note that the leather matches her nails.

“Shall I model it for you now? Or should we save it for another night?”

Steve takes a deep breath. “Now,” he says firmly. “Please.”

*

In the bedroom, she sets the gift box carefully to one side. The first thing she does is undress him—already a departure for Peggy, who generally prefers her gifts to unwrap themselves. She directs him to lie on his stomach on the bed, climbing up beside him.

When she reaches past him and takes a small bottle out of the bedside drawer, he can feel his nerves ramping back up.

“You’ll warn me, right?” He’s kidding—he trusts her not to spring anything on him. But he’s never been able to help running his mouth when he’s nervous.

Peggy’s palms, covered in something warm and slick, glide over his back. “We’ll discuss the order of operations in due course,” she tells him, digging her fingers into the meat of his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

She leans down and presses a kiss just behind his ear. “This isn’t going to work if you’re tense, my darling.”

Peggy works him over from the nape of his neck all the way down, unravelling every knot of tension along the way. Whatever is on her hands smells good, and makes his skin feel tingly-hot—giving him something to focus on outside of the clamour in his head.

He tenses up briefly when her hands land on his backside, but she doesn’t do anything other than massage it, thoroughly, before moving on to the backs of his thighs.

By the time she reaches the soles of his feet, Steve is _extremely_ relaxed, using the pillow to muffle a satisfied groan.

“That sounds promising.” Peggy stretches out beside him, running her nails lightly over his back.

He turns to look at her, head pillowed on his forearm. The light in the room is soft, dreamlike. “I thought it was _your_ birthday.”

“You don’t think I enjoy putting my hands all over you?” She gives his ass a little squeeze. He honestly isn’t sure whether she normally touches it this much, or if he’s just noticing it more because of the context.

“Well, you’re welcome to give me a rubdown anytime.”

She kisses him, soft and sweet, sliding her fingers through his hair.

“All right,” she says at last. “Here’s what I propose: you lie back and relax, and let me work you up a bit.” She waggles her pinky at him, almost coyly. “And then, if you’re _very_ good, you’ll get to help me try out my birthday present.”

She makes it sound as though he’s been begging her for this. The crazy thing is, it’s _working_. He feels like he’s being offered a reward, and he’s determined to earn it.

“If anything I’m doing isn’t to your taste, you’ll tell me. Slow, or stop. In those words.”

“Slow or stop,” he repeats. “Got it.”

She caresses his cheek. “I mean it. Don’t feel you have to grit your teeth and bear it all the way through because you’ve agreed to try.”

On the surface, the idea that she has to be careful with him at all is ludicrous. She’s strong, sure, but Steve’s tolerance for physical punishment is very nearly infinite. Even if this doesn’t do anything for him, the worst he’s going to feel is slightly uncomfortable.

But Peggy is giving him what he craves: a chance to let himself be cared for, to trust her to do the heavy lifting.

“I’ll tell you,” he assures her.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t move when she gets up, but he can hear the rustle of tissue paper and the soft sounds of her undressing. After a few minutes, she touches the back of his leg, and he turns over and lifts up on his elbows to look.

As always, Peggy is stunning.

And, as always, Steve is stunned.

The leather is even more luxurious against her creamy skin. The harness looks a lot like a garter belt, especially combined with the stockings she’s still wearing, and the sight of it has a visceral effect on him.

He knows Peggy wore stockings back when they were first acquainted; he assumes she must also have worn a garter belt, or something very like it. He never got to see her in it, but he’s thought about it, before and since.

He’d never ask her to wear something like that for him—just as he’s never asked her to put on a red dress, or wear her hair in victory rolls. He’s not interested in having her roleplay her younger self for his gratification. He couldn’t stand to have her think, for even an instant, that she was a substitute for something he couldn’t have.

But this is different. Maybe it’s because he never did get to see her in her underthings during the war; maybe it’s that he hasn’t asked her to dress this way for him.

Or maybe the sight of Peggy, mostly naked and about to do dirty things to him, just turns him on, and it doesn’t need to be examined any more closely than that.

“Well?” she prompts.

He’s lying on his back, nude, making his appreciation fairly obvious, but he voices it all the same: “Looks good on you. How’s it feel?”

“It’s a decent fit.”

She shimmies her hips, the dildo wagging comically, and Steve loses it, cracking up.

She grins. “I can see how you’d be preoccupied, walking around with one of these.”

“Mine’s not that distracting. Most of the time.”

She rests a knee on the mattress, and he moves to turn over, but she stops him with a hand on his hip, leaning down to kiss him. It’s a little odd when she presses into him, the cool, rigid length against his stomach—but he ignores it and pulls her closer. His hands slide over glossy leather and slippery silk and beneath it all, the softest skin.

It’s a long while before she breaks away to kiss her way down his chest and stomach, until she’s kneeling between his legs. She takes him in hand and licks him, base to tip, and it suddenly becomes clear exactly what _working him up a bit_ entails.

Not that Steve is complaining. His basis for comparison is fairly limited, but in his opinion, Peggy is nothing less than an artist in the medium of the blowjob.

In the back of his mind, there’s a bad joke about birthdays and candles, but Steve doesn’t have time to frame it before her mouth is on him, hot and soft.

As she works him over, she massages the spot behind his balls, just like the last time. It doesn’t have quite as dramatic an effect, but it definitely adds a little something.

When she slips a finger into him, it isn’t instantly pleasurable, but it feels fine, a natural extension of everything else she’s doing.

Delving in deeper, she hits a good spot, her finger lightly grazing it in time to the movements of her mouth.

A pleasant tension starts to build in his groin, different than he’s used to: not as urgent, but deeper, wider. He finds himself rocking his hips, unthinkingly, trying to get more of her inside him.

He feels the wave start to crest, his head falling back—which is when she pulls away.

“Come _on_ ,” he hears himself groan. He flops onto the mattress, only then realizing he’d been arching his back.

Peggy looks pleased, and pats his thigh consolingly. “That was nice for you, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He’s desperate, the high already fading. “You can keep doing that.”

“My fingers aren’t quite long enough for what you really need, darling. Shall we try the next step?”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”

She has him lie at the end of the bed, a pillow propping up his ass. He’s surprised by how exposed it feels; Peggy being on top isn’t new, not by a long shot, but there’s something about having his legs spread and his knees drawn up that feels vulnerable, in a different way than he’s used to.

But it’s impossible to have second thoughts when he catches sight of her face: she looks hungry, eager, lit up. He knows, with absolute certainty, that he’s giving her something she needs, something she would never try to take without his enthusiastic participation.

She keeps her gaze locked on his as she pushes in gently, then waits, giving him time to adjust to the strange fullness. The dildo feels a lot larger than it looked.

“Ready?”

“Slow,” he pants.

She moves. He can tell she’s looking for a reaction, and he wants to give it to her, but it just feels like a lot of sliding.

But then she brushes up against that good spot, and she was right: it’s _so_ much better. “Oh,” he says, urgently.

“Steve?”

“It’s good, you’re—you’re good.”

She repeats the motion. It’s not quite enough, but it feels electric. His skin is buzzing all over. He can tell by how hard she’s breathing that it’s doing something for her too.

She trails a hand down his stomach. “You’re gorgeous like this,” she tells him, her voice rough. “I’ve wanted you this way for so long.”

He’s slightly out of breath himself, but manages a grin. “So give it to me already.”

She bites her lip, fixing him with a look that goes right to his core. She starts to pull out, and he thinks for a second that she’s going to tease him for the impertinence, make him ask nicely, make him work for it.

And then she _does_ give it to him, full force.

It feels raw, and impossibly good, and it pushes every conscious thought out of his brain. He shifts and squirms, trying to get more, harder, deeper. He’s distantly aware of how ridiculous he’s being, but Peggy doesn’t seem to mind: she’s flushed and panting, a fine sheen of sweat on her neck and collarbone.

Steve’s sweating too, his hair damp, his skin slick against hers. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life; he wants to hold out for as long as she needs, but he feels like he might die if she doesn’t touch him soon. He regrets not asking her to tie his hands back. Next time, he thinks.

She’s wildly, impossibly beautiful above him—hair falling forward, breasts bouncing with every thrust. Her nails are digging into his thighs, like she can’t stand to let him go.

Just when he can’t take it anymore, she wraps her hand around him and begins to stroke, firmly, in time with her thrusts. It feels so good that he cries out, pleads for her not to stop. And then it isn’t long before he’s shaking, flying apart into a billion pieces.

He shudders for what seems like a long time afterwards, uncontrollably, Peggy holding him close through it. She finally pulls out just as the fullness is starting to get uncomfortable.

She takes a moment to discard the harness before climbing into bed, kissing him deeply. They kiss until a profound exhaustion steals over him, and he curls up in her arms and closes his eyes.

After a minute or two, he realizes that he hasn’t bothered to find out where she’s at. Which is a jerk move, especially considering that this was supposed to be his gift to her.

“Hey,” he says.

“Mm?”

“Did I leave you hanging?”

“No.” She draws out the word, long and lilting. “I had three times the fun you did. I shouted your name at one point. You didn’t notice?”

Steve is fairly certain that he wouldn’t have noticed an air raid siren in the moment. “Sorry.”

She ruffles his hair. “Don’t be. I wanted you to let go, and you did. You were brilliant. How does everything feel?”

He takes a quick inventory. He has lubrication where he isn’t used to having it, but aside from that, all he’s really aware of is a sense of blissful, bone-deep relaxation. “Pretty good.”

“Would you do it again?”

The thought makes his insides curl up. “Not right this second.”

She kisses the top of his head. “In general.”

“Oh, yeah. Although,” he feels compelled to clarify, “I still like the usual way.”

“Oh, so do I. In fact, I’ll have that next on the menu, at your earliest convenience.” She gives him a loud smack on the ass.

“I’m just a piece of meat to you, is that it?”

“Yes, my little rump roast,” she murmurs, and bites his shoulder playfully.

“So, I’m curious. How long is so long?”

“Is that a riddle?”

“You said you wanted this for ‘so long.’ How long?”

“Since basic training,” she says promptly. “You needed a reminder of who was in charge.”

He knows there’s a real answer coming, and he waits for it.

“I thought of it the first night you came here.” She’s unusually bashful about the admission. “A man who asks to be tied to the bed when he’s never made love before is a man who doesn’t fear the unconventional. But I had to be certain you weren't just putting up with it for my sake.”

Steve thinks about about how much time they’ve both wasted in not being truthful about what they want.

“You can always ask,” he tells her. “If there’s anything you need that I’m not giving you. Just ask me.”

“Oh, darling,” she says fondly. “I know.”

He reaches over to the nightstand for his watch out of habit, slipping it back onto his wrist. “It’s quarter to midnight,” he reports. “Was it a good day?”

“Lovely. I can’t wait to see what you have in mind for next year.”

“Another strap-on.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Fancy something larger?”

“Same model, different colour.” He kisses her shoulder. “I know you like to accessorize.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You can paint your nails to match,” he whispers, pressing his face against her neck to catch the scent of her perfume.

“Tease.” Her voice is taut, her hand gripping the back of his head tightly.

“On your birthday? Never.”

“It’s only my birthday for ten more minutes.”

Steve grins, already sliding down the bed. “Then I better make ‘em count.”


End file.
